


History Lessons

by ElinorJane



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dad Kanan, Ezra Bridger Space Son & Kanan Jarrus Space Dad Bonding Time, Parental Kanan Jarrus, kids being kids, there really should be a tag for Kanan and Sabine father daughter interactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElinorJane/pseuds/ElinorJane
Summary: In which Kanan is a precious SpaceDad even though his kids are accidentally probing sensitive memories.  Basically, fluff with a dash of angst. Takes place between S1 episodes “Rise of the Old Masters” and “Breaking Ranks.”
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Kanan Jarrus & Sabine Wren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	History Lessons

Kanan sighed at the noise of bickering and ignored it by focusing on the repairs. He was lying on his back under a panel in the Ghost’s cockpit, about to replace wires that had overheated. A job he’d volunteered to take from Hera. She’d had her hands full with Fulcrum’s missions lately.

And he was about to have his hands full with the kids. Ezra and Sabine’s argument grew louder as they strayed closer to the cockpit.

“I only meant to help, Sabine, I didn’t know—”

“You scared me out of ten years’ growth, kid! I could have hit you!”

“Well, you didn’t.” Ezra sounded petulant. “And I thought you’d appreciate some company, you know, like a practice partner—”

“Get lost, kid.”

Kanan sighed again; he probably needed to intervene.

“Fine,” Ezra snapped, though he sounded hurt. A moment later, he stumped into the cockpit and banged on the button to shut the doors. “Oh. Hi, Kanan.”

“Hey, kid.” Kanan scooted out from under the panel, sat up, and tossed Ezra a set of pliers. “Make yourself useful.”

As Ezra sat down and craned his neck to see under the panel, Kanan said, “Don’t take it so hard. She’ll warm up to you eventually.”

(Though he made a mental note to tell Sabine to go easier on the kid.)

Ezra sighed as he wedged the tool under the edge of the panel. “I just thought she’d like to have target practice with a partner. Like brothers-in-arms, or maybe for competition.” Before Kanan could answer, Ezra continued, “I thought a Mandalorian would like that.”

The cover of the panel popped off suddenly; Kanan caught it and shoved it gently to the side. He then chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t judge all Mandalorians by the first one you meet, kid. Besides, a lot depends on the person, or the clan.” He scooted back under the panel. “Hand me the wire cutters.”

Ezra hunted in the tool box, handed over the cutters, and asked, “So, did you meet a lot of Mandalorians? I mean, in the Clone Wars.”

It was a simple question, but it revived images and sounds. Orange explosions and black smoke. Red and blue bolts. The whizz of flying metal and the pulse of blaster fire. Shouts of fury, victory, pain. And sensations an image couldn’t reproduce: the smell of smoke and blood. The grip of fear. All as vivid as if he’d just survived a battle. He frowned harder at the wires as he snipped the dead ones. “Mandalore as whole neutral during the war.”

“Neutral?” Ezra sputtered. “During a war?”

Clearly, the advice about judging the whole race had gone in one ear and out the other.

“Yep. The ruler of Mandalore at the time was a pacifist.” Kanan tipped his head to the side to see Ezra’s reaction.

“Pacifist?” The kid was slack-jawed.

Kanan laughed. “That one ruler, yes. Rumor was that she banished all the Mandalorian warriors who clung to the old ways.”

“Huh. Never would have guessed.” Ezra sat, staring at nothing, lost in thought, the pliers limp in his hand. “So…how did staying neutral work? Did both sides just…agree to leave each other alone?” His brow wrinkled.

“The Republic honored the neutrality, and the Separatists didn’t. Can’t remember if the Jedi ever stepped in, though; I don’t think Mandalore ever asked for our help.”

“So, no surprises there,” Ezra grinned.

Kanan laughed. “I remember hearing that the ruler was hell-bent on keeping her pacifist ideals, no matter the consequences. She refused help from the Jedi, though not the Senate if I recall.”

“Huh,” Ezra said again. After another pause, he asked, “So, did you ever meet Mandalorians during the war?”

Kanan sighed and reluctantly searched his memory. “One group gave us air support during a battle. That’s all I can remember.”

“Well, what about the Jedi?—were there any Mandalorian Jedi?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Mandalorians and Jedi didn’t get along easily.”

“Why not?”

Days like this gave him a new respect for his own master. Not that he really begrudged the kid his questions…but he was in the middle of a job and did not particularly want to remember his life before the last six years. “Jedi were peacekeepers; Mandalorians were warriors. Draw your own conclusions.”

“Peacekeepers who carried around lightsabers.” The kid’s tone was flat.

Kanan tapped the floor with the wire cutters. “Hand me that bundle over there.”

Ezra passed over the bundle of fresh wires and repeated his remark: “Peacekeepers who carried around lightsabers?”

Kanan grimaced. “Yeah, kid.” He focused on the tricky work of reconnecting each wire. Ezra stayed quiet. The silence stretched out, and somehow, Kanan found himself thinking of Depa Billaba. How patient she’d been with his endless questions. How she’d encouraged those questions, in fact, and prompted him to think through the matter until he found the answer. He let out a short breath. Then he scooted out from under the panel, sat up, and faced Ezra. “Okay, it does seem contradictory. But a Jedi uses his lightsaber for defense. To protect others and dispense justice. So yes, peacekeepers carried around lightsabers. But it’s a tool that can be used for good or for evil. And in many ways, it’s a last resort.”

Ezra dropped his gaze, considering, and then he looked up. “That makes sense. And is that why you’re just teaching me to block the stuff Zeb throws at me?”

Kanan chuckled. “One reason. That also gets you used to the weapon. Now,” gesturing to the panel, “let’s finish this.”

The job took longer than he’d figured, and once they finally replaced the panel covering, Ezra was bouncing on his heels, clearly stir-crazy. Kanan ordered the kid outside to burn off that energy, while he himself went back to the living quarters.

He passed Sabine sitting at the common room table and cleaning her weapons with a half-scowl. Kanan gathered his own blaster and sat down beside her, joining her in her work. After a minute, he said casually, “What were you and Ezra fighting about?”

Sabine set down her gun with a thump. “He popped up out of nowhere—almost in front of my target! If I’d been a lousier shot with slower reflexes, I would have hit him. Probably killed him too!”

“Hmm.” After another pause, Kanan said, “I don’t think he meant to scare you—”

Sabine scoffed. “Well, he doesn’t need to try any harder!”

“Hey, go easy on him. His heart’s in the right place—even if his mouth isn’t,” Kanan added with wry grin.

“Or the rest of him.” Sabine sighed and sat back. “I really might have hit him.”

“I’ll tell him to stay away from your practice area.”

“Thanks.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and cocked her head. “So, were all Jedi Padawans in the way like that?”

Kanan focused on cleaning his blaster for a moment. Memories of the temple were not particularly what he wanted right now; between this and memories of the Clone Wars, he probably wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. “Well, sometimes. But most of us lived in the temple, until we were old enough to have a master.”

“Which was how old?”

He glanced at Sabine; she’d never asked these questions before. “Typically, mid-teens or older. Most were older when a master chose one as his or her Padawan.”

“So Ezra’s technically too young.” She huffed. “That explains a lot.”

Kanan chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“What made Jedi masters choose a padawan?”

“Tradition. It was believed you didn’t really understand something until you taught it to someone.”

Sabine considered. “So…if the masters were terrible at teaching and good at something different—they were still stuck with a kid?”

“Something like that.” His tone was flat; Sabine’s questions hit a little too close to home. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just like to know what I’m dealing with. This is a new thing for everybody.”

Kanan shook his head and sighed. “You got that right.”

After a pause, she said with a mischievous look in her eyes, “Were padawans convinced they could handle anything?”

“Yep.”

“Terrible at flirting?”

“Definitely.”

“Overconfident show-offs?”

“You have no idea.”

Sabine snickered. “And how much of that applied to you?”

Kanan set his blaster on the table and cocked an eyebrow. “Never grew out of it, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, but your crazy strategies actually succeed.” She suddenly leaned forward and switched on the Derjak table. “And I’m still going to beat you one of these days.”

“All right, game on.”

Sabine didn’t win.


End file.
